


RISE

by ImmortalRii38



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Slow Build, Unbreakable Vow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2019-10-07 00:28:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17355506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImmortalRii38/pseuds/ImmortalRii38
Summary: Wherein the relationship between Muggle (or No-Maj) and wizard is far more complex than anyone knows. And Harry Potter is *not* amused."Everyone wants to tell you what to do and what's good for you. They don't want you to find your own answers, they want you to believe theirs."Slight AU, canon-build





	RISE

**Author's Note:**

> All original Harry Potter characters, plots, and settings belong to one J.K. Rowling.  
> Unbeta’d :)

“Harder!” yelled Jeannine Leighn loudly, raising her sword and bringing it down with a mighty clang. “Do not let your guard down—your enemies will not hesitate, they will not play nice or fair!”

“I _do_ try,” gasped Brielle Leighn as she blocked her guide’s sword with trembling arms and stepped back hastily.

“You do not try hard enough!” An ear-splitting shriek and then a vicious swipe at her legs. With a cry, Brielle went down, her hands barely reaching out to slam on the dirt floor to prevent a broken nose. “Every moment of hesitation— _weakness_. It will be used against you, do not be mistaken!”

Brielle glared up at the aged witch towering above her resentfully, wiping at her scraped knees and rising to her feet hastily. “I’m tired,” she said, breathing heavily. “May we not stop for the day? Please?”

These words seemed to aggravate the great Joanne, who pointed her sword threateningly at Brielle, tossed her mane of pale hair back, and scoffed scornfully, “Tired? In my day, ‘tired’ was not a word. Lazy, arrogant, _shameful_! That’s all there is.”

Fury tangled with her exhaustion and Brielle sprang forward once more. This time, she tossed aside the sword, too heavy, slowing her down, and reached for the blade sheathed at her hip. There was only a fraction of a second, no time to spare. With quick, nimble fingers, she spun, rolling away: when she stood straight again, the dagger was in her hand.

“Hither! No, to the side, a little more—arghh!” There was an angry roar as Brielle successfully cornered her opponent, adding force to her grip as she grabbed their wrist, pressed down, and pulled. They stepped back, attempting to free themselves, and in that she glimpsed an opening. Brielle stepped, a mere feint, then she slid in between the open legs, hooked her hands around burning calves and stood. Slight off balance occurred as a hand shot out to grab her shoulders. The sword fell from her opponent’s grasp. Smiling, a slight slant, push, the digging of heels, and Brielle drove her opponent to the ground, putting down all her weight to keep them on the ground. One…two…three…

Blue eyes, an equal to her own, blinked up at her, a grin stretching across chapped lips. Brielle only had time to let out a startled breath in realization before a hand whipped out, knocking her head back. That hand slid under her arm, around her neck. In a flash, their positions were reversed, and Brielle was the one struggling against the sudden weight pinning her to the ground, cutting off her supply of oxygen. She attempted to move but was unsuccessful. Her heart plummeted.

“And—victory to Jeannine, she wins!”

Bodies clamored around in a rush of whites, grays, and yellows. The weight was removed, a hand brushing aside tangles of pale hair.

“Not a lost victory, eh?” the figure said as Brielle got back on her feet, brushing dirt from her back.

“Nice foil, Aunt Joanne,” shot back Brielle, a smile now spreading across her face as the woman in front of her rubbed at a scrape at her elbow with a small wince. There was a telltale bruise already forming on her chin too. “You had me there, I thought I’d won. But that was your plan all along, right, to get me to fall right into your plot?”

A bark of laughter slid through Jeannine’s mouth as she turned her pale gaze to her niece. “The Cornered Mouse always works,” she said bracingly, winking. “The cat overestimates itself, sure in its victory, and then—”

“Brielle!”

“And that is my cue to go,” said Aunt Joanne at once, breaking off. With a fond pat of Brielle’s head, she turned and went to speak to one of the dozen people who’d come to see her and Brielle train. She had not bothered to pick up her sword, which Brielle rightly assumed would be up to her. With a long-suffering sigh, she went to pick it up and had just straightened when two people slammed into her from behind, almost throwing her off her feet. There was a bout of laughter, then the hands released her.

Turning around, Brielle came face-to-face with two girls her age standing a foot away. One sported a crown of brilliant brown hair, which glinted like copper in the late afternoon light, and warm brown skin. Her gray eyes crinkled as she grinned at Brielle. The other had darker hair and the type of delicate features that put into mind the features of a finely carved porcelain doll.

“Harmonia, Diana,” said Brielle in her most gravelly voice. “How fare you on this fine November ‘noon?”

“Oh, cut the dramatics,” snapped Diana, brushing her dark hair out of her eyes impatiently. Behind her shoulder Harmonia rolled her eyes, miming a damsel in distress. Brielle stifled a smile. “Harmonia and I had no idea you’d keep practicing with your aunt this late or we’d have come ages ago.” She cast the expansive field an accusatory glare, as if it were at fault for her problems. Which perhaps it was.

Diana was the daughter of Celeste Demura, one of the most reputable potion-makers in all of Wringburg. Madame Celeste foresaw all births and deaths in their home. Extremely well-liked by the general youth and respected by the elders, Diana was a skilled student excelling in the martial arts and in the mathematics field. She too was someone whom Brielle had long since regarded with mounting dislike. From an extremely young age, Jeannine Leighn had recruited Diana to her group of chosen students, those with the potential of harnessing and strengthening their core as witches and wizards. Diana, particularly, had proved to be extremely competitive and passionate. Her determination to best all other twenty-seven students, particularly Brielle, who was Jeannine Leighn’s very own niece, had bred a bitter rivalry between them. They had scarcely been able look each other in the face without making one biting remark or the other.

That had changed, for better or worse, in the past two years. With Aunt Joanne’s continued insistence that they put their rivalry aside and realize how alike they actually were, Diana had approached Brielle one day in a towering rage and all but ordered them to be friends. Brielle had laughed and made to walk away but Harmonia, true to her name, had coaxed her to see reason and give Diana, whose brother Luke had left for Eoin not even a month ago—and was also coincidentally friends with her—a chance. Aside from hurt pride, neither had anything to lose she’d said. That stung, more so because it was the truth.

In the end, both Diana and Brielle acquiesced. They struck up a hesitant sort of truce, if only to appease their respective loved ones. Well, it wasn’t _really_ a truce anymore. In the months they’d spent with each other, she and Diana had grown close, their rivalry all but discarded in the fierce friendship that blossomed in its wake. She considered that a true leap, given that once she’d single-handedly charmed a pair of garden shears to hack off several inches of Diana’s precious hair. It still made Brielle smile when she remembered Diana’s horrified screams, her reclusion to wearing clothing that concealed her hair for months on end. There were times even now though, when their past enmity resurged and she and Diana were forced to distant themselves lest they go back to the old ways. It was best not to push their luck, they knew. After all, they were a little bit too alike to begin with.

As of last month, too, Diana had stopped coming to practice. Her mom had put her foot down, declaring that it was time for Diana to focus on her studies, nothing more, nothing less. This had come as a shock for no one but Diana herself. Lately she was to be seen stalking away from her house in a sour mood, Madame Celeste screaming profanities after her. Well, according to Diana. She’d made it clear from a young age that there was no lost love for the woman who’d given birth to her, only an inescapable, acidic hatred and revulsion.

“What Diana means,” said Harmonia haughtily, stepping in front of Diana coolly, “is if you’ve finished the baskets for the festival. It’s only a month away now.”

“ _No_ , that’s wrong. I was actually wondering if Brielle had perfected her _dance_ for the festival. You know, Lucer’s?” said Diana pointedly.

Brielle felt her face flush. Dance? Oh, right. The one she was supposed to perform in front of all of Wringburg a mere hour before the start of the winter solstice was drawing to a close. The one Aunt Joanne had signed her up for without her knowledge or consent, knowing full well that the complex and intricate dance terrified Brielle, who was certain that she would forget a step—any step—and ruin the whole three-hour performance. That dance.

“I’m confident I’ve got it down,” she said lamely, attempting a smile. She had a feeling it wasn’t very convincing.

Sure enough, Diana snorted and straightened, tossing back her hair. Her great brown eyes narrowed, lighting with triumph. “See? I told you she’d forgotten all about it, Harmony! Despite the whole town counting on her, even betting on her, she still thinks it’s insignificant. She probably thinks dancing for our ancestors is meaningless too, don’t you?”

“I do not!” retorted Brielle hotly. “It’s still over a month away. And I thought you were dancing to Lileiana’s on the first, Mo?”

Harmonia laughed. “I’ve got my part down to the millisecond. I’ve been practicing nonstop for the past three weeks!” she said proudly. Being told that she was wanted for the dance of the tragic heroine, one of the most prominent figures in her and Diana’s culture, had awaken a deep ember of confidence and excitement within Harmonia. Rare had been the times she’d been allowed to show off her rather enviable dancing skills.

A few days ago Brielle had been the one chosen to dance the Weeping Lady on the last day of October, right into the next month. It made her extremely proud, that her sweet friend was at last getting to express herself through dance, instead of the regular academics. She knew and understood the exact depths of Harmonia’s love for dance only too well, after all. 

“I do not doubt it,” Brielle said, remembering something she’d forgotten about in the past two weeks. “You want to give Luke quite the impression, right? He’s arriving sometime tomorrow, I heard.”

As expected, red instantly spread on Harmonia’s cheeks. It was no secret she had harbored a crush on Luke for some time now. Spluttering, she looked around anxiously. Diana, however, glowered. All amicability vanished from her face, replaced with an irritation that was by now as familiar to Brielle as Harmonia’s constant dreaminess.

“Leave my brother out of this,” she snapped.

Luke, born Lucas, was Madame Celeste’s only other child, and the eldest. He was also the one Diana ever truly spoke passionately about. Rumor was he had been the one to essentially raise her when Madame Celeste hadn’t years back, when Diana had been a mere newborn and sweet Luke eight, a true protector even then. Whatever the case, Diana had been extremely displeased when her brother made public his plans to relocate to Eoin, the next town over. Brielle had not understood, since Eoin was a lovely settlement supposedly teeming with all sorts of magical creatures, including the rare faerie and werewolf. Of course, Aunt Joanne had always insisted those were things of legend, meant to create auras of wonder and fear and speculation. Brielle remained unconvinced. After all, she told herself, if witches and wizards, elves, and gods were present in their lives, why not werewolves? How far-fetched would that even be really? Didn’t they themselves remain a thing of stories and speculation in No-Maj land?

With a sheepish smile at Harmonia, who nodded understandingly, Brielle chose to, in her opinion, wisely turn away. Diana watched blankly, breathing heavily. It was this that alerted her that her words had resurfaced some of the old tension. Leaving now would be best. It would give time for Diana to calm down and keep Brielle from making things worse. She did not need to be the cause for the other girl’s instability again.

She’d barely turned the same bend Diana and Harmonia had come through earlier when footsteps sounded from behind her.  Instinctively, Brielle turned. She stopped when she took note of an awfully familiar apple-green sweater and the battered red shoe box held to the person’s side.

“Will?” she said, surprised, as the town’s potion maker’s grandson caught sight of her and grinned, walking faster. Her gaze fell to the sweat coating his skin and her brow furrowed. She looked behind him, to the field she’d just left. “What are you doing here? Were you back there, practicing as well?”

Will stopped in front of her, breathing hard. “Sorry?” he said, looking startled. “What—oh, no. No, not today. I’d heard you and Professor Leighn were practicing today near the creek and I went to see if she could demonstrate yesterday’s lesson to me in person. I fell ill yesterday. She was gone when I arrived though. The only one I found was you, but by the time I’d finished talking with Ariel, you’d gone too. I would have asked Diana since she was with Harmonia but she didn’t look all that happy so I left.”

He shrugged,

Brielle nodded sympathetically, pointedly ignoring the last part. Aunt Joanne hated it when her pupils fell sick, especially with March so near.

“I think she’s gone home. Earlier she mentioned that your grandma would be needing the essence of belladonna by twilight today but I’m pretty sure my aunt’s no idea where she put it. She was in a right state of mind too before practice. You know without the belladonna the Nolascent tonic won’t take effect. A whole month of breaking and making—for nothing.”

“Isn’t it that potion named for the iridescent, pearly glow that surrounds the wounded skin, stitching and mending together the injuries and lessening any aches or bruises brought on by extreme exertion?”

“It is, yes,” said Brielle, smiling. 

Will’s eyes gleamed. “The belladonna counteracts the flesh-eating properties of the hawthorn berries—ground to fine dust of course—and gnome’s blood within the potion, eliminating any potential poisons and therefore creating a paste that is more efficient and abundant than the average healing salve. Did I get all that correct?” Will said curiously. He stayed by Brielle’s side as she resumed her walking.

Brielle for her part, stared at him, not for the first time amazed at her friend’s ability to memorize such information. Perhaps that was part of the requirement for being a potions master in the making, to know the very essentials and basics of such an unstable potion.

“That’s right,” she said, amused. “But you’ve forgotten that’s not the only factor. There’s also the quarter vial of beetle juice and untouched duck liver, five times sliced and washed cold.”

Will shuddered. “I don’t envy the person who has to force down my grandma’s medical remedies,” he said, disgusted. Brielle understood only all to well. The Nolascent potion, though giving off the pleasant smell of freshly picked roses, was extremely hard to ingest. It was a thick and bitter liquid more closely resembling manure than anything else and had it not been personally brewed by Madame Tilkin, the taker would no doubt assume they were being poisoned.

“What about that fever then?” asked Brielle eventually. They’d been walking silently for the past ten minutes or so, and up ahead she glimpsed the familiar two-story home Aunt Joanne situated them both into when they had first arrived to Wringburg years ago, when she had been far too young for memories. The windows were dark, which was an indication that either Aunt Joanne hadn’t arrived yet or that she had already come and gone. “Did you ever find out why you got it in the first place? All of us under eighteen got our Currea dosages administered a few weeks ago.”

Looking suddenly guilty, Will nodded. “On Saturday, I went up to Alta Cree. Alone. I, uh, encountered some…grysters.”

“And you brought some home and ate them, did you?” she said sharply. Will flushed.

“They were good! Look, how many times per year do grysters come out? Come on, Brielle, you know how they like to hide, they’re extremely hard to come by even during late summer and fall. Besides, I didn’t go to Alta Cree for the fish.” A sudden serious look settled over Wills face. He beckoned Brielle closer, casting a suspicious look at the trees around them. It was common knowledge that the younger kids liked to hide out among the foliage all around with _canturas_ , singing boxes that imitated the sounds of small creatures and deposited out sweets and a new academic word for every creature that was both identified and properly imitated back to the box.

For a moment Brielle hesitated. Then she sighed. “Give me a moment,” she said, flicking her hands. Fists curled, she focused on Will’s face and the solid ground beneath her feet, imagining there was a link between them and the earth, where everything they said would vanish instantaneously, heard only by them. _Augendium Muffliato_ , she thought. A cool rush ran through her body, coiling around the air, and a thin white line, glowing faintly, spread from her hands to touch Will, who blinked.

“I’m getting better at this!” Brielle said excitedly as they began walking again. “Before, I could only do the basic levels of wandless magic, enough for me and one person. Remember? Now I can extend it to as many as six people and only feel as drained as I did during the initial stages.”

“That’s cool,” remarked Will with only a touch of envy. “Personally, I am still at level one myself, as you very well know. Non-verbal spells and I do not mix all that well. Yet.  _Ignitium_!” A dome of fire flared above his head, hovering just above his hair, and he gasped, staggering to the side.

“ _Decedi_!” said Brielle, laughing despite herself as she watched Will run a shaking hand through his hair to make sure it was still intact then bend hastily to pick up his box, still wide-eyed. She oftentimes forgot how silly Will could be, despite knowing him since infancy. 

“I might have gotten a little bit too excited,” he said sheepishly, brushing dirt away from the side of his box. “Still, I’m learning. That’s got to count for something, even if Grandma insists on venturing out to the states for a wand.” He scowled there.

“I wouldn’t know how to survive like that, keeping my magic under such a tight leash,” she agreed. “Depending on a wood in order to do magic…” She shuddered. The mere thought made her heartbeat quicken. It was awful, what she’d heard about wands from Aunt Joanne and some of the other adults who’d owned wands before. Apparently, they tampered with your magic and suppressed the ability to perform certain spells and for those who lost their wands, they were left unable to perform even the simplest of spells.

“ _You are a person whose very blood is a current for magic. The lowest you could sink would be to allow anything like a wand from holding you back. I’ve known great and powerful witches and wizards who could wield a wand like a second limb, whose displays of magic astound me even to this day…but struggle to perform even a quick Tempo_ _wandlessly _.”__ That was what her aunt had said once, when Brielle demanded on knowing why she couldn’t have a wand despite others around her possessing the likes of them.

“Yeah,” said Will slowly. “Now, remember how I told you I went to Alta Cree for something other than the fish? Well, I’ve been wanting to show them to Grandma but…perhaps next year. She’ll have my hide if she finds out why I went there in the first place. You, on the other hand, I know you’ll really like them. I’ve been carrying them around for the past few days just in case my grandma suspects anything.”

“Oh no. What’d you find exactly, Tilkin?” Wary, Brielle followed his gaze. He was looking at the shoe box with a giddy look that set her on edge. As an aspiring potions master and lover of any and all magical creatures, everyone had by now accustomed themselves to whatever new (normally alarming) discovery Will stumbled upon. Two weeks ago, that had been a poisonous purple snail who glowed white in the dark and whose slime could disintegrate a person’s very bones.

“It’s nothing deadly, promise,” Will said hurriedly, seeing her expression. He edged closer and once he’d confirmed Brielle’s attention was focused solely on him, he grabbed the latch keeping the box closed, flicked it, and swung the lid open. Within the shallow wooden confines of the box lay three items: a sprig of some sort of silver plant, glowing faintly; a vial of clear liquid with an odd sheen to it, much like water but not quite; and a thin, long nail that had clearly never known what hygiene was. Brielle stared.

“Will…” she said carefully. “Where did you—”

“I told you, Alta Cree. I found them when I went there last Saturday. This, this here—the talon, where it’s all dark white and curved. See how sharp it is? That’s a werewolf’s talon. And see how the plant here is silver? That’s aconite. It’s poison, one of which grandma told me disappeared off Wringburg ages ago! And the—”

“Aconite is purple, not silver, Will, and the talon looks like it belongs to a bird,” interjected Brielle gently.

“—vial here is funny. I dipped a frog into it this morning and it shrunk like a raisin and died, so it must definitely be some type of poison too. I’m just not sure where it came from, there was a bunch of it smeared on top of the hewn crystal rocks leading down to the glen where the one spring feeds into Alta Cree.”

Nonplussed, Brielle said flatly, “It wasn’t a faerie, if that’s what you’re thinking. You know what Diana’s mom said. The fair folk’s blood is reported to be a livid, unnatural type of red and that is clear. Maybe it was just…I don’t know, maybe it was tree sap.”

Will raised his eyebrows. “Sap doesn’t have the iridescent sheen to it this liquid has.” He shook the vial for emphasis. The liquid indeed did see to glimmer oddly in the waning sun, almost blue, then bordering on a pale pink. Brielle sighed.

“I’m not sure. Look, Will, I’m tired. The session today with my aunt really drained me and I’ve still got dinner to prepare.” She paused, yawning. “Do you want to come in? It’s only a few yards away and I know it’ll take you a good half hour to get back home yourself. I was planning on making beef stew. Some danishes too, perhaps.”

“Can I?” said Will at once, looking pleased. “You know your danishes are to die for. And the beef stew is _amazing_! They’re incredible.”

This brought a pleasant flush to Brielle’s face. It always pleased her when people complimented her cooking and baking skills. She did know, after all, that they were not as up to par as Aunt Jeannine or Madam Tilkin’s, both greatly accomplished in all areas of the kitchen 

Will and Brielle walked the path to the front door without another word, and Will paused to remove his sweater and shoes as they entered, which were caked with dried mud. Brielle side-eyed him critically when he spotted the lady Diana’s statue but said nothing. His reverence for the fair maiden knew no boundaries, as she’d been witness to on previous countless occasions. 

For the next hour and a half, Will assisted in making the stew, then the promised danishes and crêpes, Aunt Joanne’s favorite. She even put some into a container for Will to take to Madame Tilkin and stubbornly refused his arguments that they were unnecessary. Will got through three bowls before Brielle, laughing, put her foot down and told him enough was enough. He’d dirtied the top of his mouth in his excitement, but Brielle said nothing, even when Will demanded to know why she kept grinning.

By the time they were done, and the dishes had been scrubbed clean and put away, the remaining stew placed on the counter for when Aunt Joanne came home, dark had fallen and there was still no sign of her.

“Do you think she’s with my grandma?” Will said, looking up from the game of Wizarding chess they’d been playing for the past hour. At Brielle’s confused look, he added, “Professor Leighn. Your aunt. Where do you think she is? It’s half past eight.”

“I’m not sure,” said Brielle, frowning. She set her piece down. “But she’s fine, I’m sure. She’s done this before. Remember, there was one time where she didn’t come home until midday the next day, long after I’d awoken.” 

But there was a concerned look on Will’s face. He looked around, taking note of the framed photo of Aunt Joanne holding Brielle on her second birthday, shrieking with glee, having just smeared Aunt Joanne’s face with the remnants of her birthday cake, of the dainty pale blue pillows Brielle had stitched herself, the tidiness of the home in general, with every little object having a home. His gaze fell upon the most recent addition to Aunt Joanne’s pictures, a group of people all wearing the same red robes and beaming and waving at the person who’d taken the photo. There was a small crack down the side of the glass that Brielle did not remember being there before.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” he said, sitting up.

“What do you mean?” Brielle’s heart lurched. Aside from being a gifted student, Will had also been gifted a keen eye, able to discern what was right from wrong, true from false. It was this reason that had made Aunt Joanne even fonder of him. Brielle believed in him too. If he said something was wrong, then chances were they most likely were. She did not waste time but dimmed the lights so that she could only barely see her friend. “Will?”

A tremor shook through his body. “Brielle,” he said shakily, eyes wide. The chair he was sitting in screeched horribly as he sprang to his feet, his eyes flicking around. “You need to pack.”

“ _What_? Why?” And in a lower voice, “Did you see something?”

But her answer came soon enough. Will’s whole body slackened, and an odd, distant look settled on his face. Brielle sprang forward with a cry as he swayed on his feet. The moment she touched him, Will turned, and Brielle felt horror glue her to the spot: his eyes were a solid gold. Then Will’s mouth dropped open, a faint green mist billowing from his lips, and he spoke in a dry, raspy voice:

_The child of bane won, born as the unknown one_

_Choices taken, paths forged for one within all_

_Janus, O mighty, the dawn for broken crowns and swords_

_Foes and friends, silhouettes of day and night, all the same in the end_

_The ones to experience first-hand worlds of grief and sorrow,_

_For which lifeless heroes will give one final gift_

_In the cold hopes so they may yet see tomorrow_  

Will jerked, and he bent over coughing. Mind racing, Brielle hurried to get him a glass of water. He took it gratefully, then straightened. Upon catching sight of her face, he faltered. “What? Have I done something?”

Brielle shook her head, a feeling of dread settling over her. “You just…Gods above, I’m almost certain you…” She broke off, unable to voice it. Because Will had just spoken a prophecy. She was sure of it.

Just then, there was a loud bang and the front door flew open. Almost instinctively, Will seized her and shoved her behind him, the same exact thing Brielle had been about to do. It would’ve been funny had someone not just barged into her home without so much as a knock.

“Let go of me!” she whispered but Will merely scowled into the dark, the tendons in his arms coiling in preparation for an attack. Peeved, Brielle squinted at the kitchen door, the house wards tingling around her. She breathed in, allowing them to whisper to her, to sense the intruder’s magic. Surprise flitted through her. It was Diana. And Harmonia.

The light within the house flared to full force as Brielle, gripping Will’s shoulder, stood. Sure enough, Diana and Harmonia stood just past the threshold, looking alarmed at the sudden brightness. All anger drained from Brielle rapidly as she really looked at them.

“What happened?” burst out Will and Brielle, staring in equal horror. Diana’s shirt was ripped at the end, a jagged scratch at her temple. Harmonia looked no better. There was dirt on her arms, neck, and face. A telltale bruise had formed already on both her arms. Her dress, once a soft gray, was now stained with grass and dirt. Both of them had weapons sheathed at their hips and across their chest.

“You need to pack _now_!” said Diana tightly as she stepped further into the room, Harmonia following. There were two bags slung across their backs, suspiciously familiar bags. Will opened his mouth but, at that moment, two more figures came racing into the house.

“Tonty?” said Brielle, stunned.

Jeannine Leighn stepped through the doorway, accompanied by Madame Tilkin, Will’s grandmother. Like Diana and Harmonia, both women were dirty. The end of Aunt Jeannine’s plait had been singed and there were several tears on her arms and legs. As Diana continued rifling through the closet, something darted through the doorway seconds before it closed and disappeared behind Aunt Jeannine’s legs.

“ _Abuela_!” said Willm rushing forward to take Madame Tilkin by the elbow, his face pale. “Professor Leighn! What—What’s happened?”

Swatting away her grandson’s hands, Madame Tilkin turned around. Her thin mouth trembled, the remnants of tears on her thin, wrinkled face. “It has happened. Wringburg has been attacked,” she declared, lifting shaking hands to point out the window.

Brielle froze. Will, too, stood blinking uncomprehendingly. She turned towards Aunt Jeannine, only to take note of the pull on her mouth, the hollow grief in her eyes. It was then that Brielle knew it was true. This was no lie.

“How?” she demanded, her skin breaking out into a nervous sweat. An image flashed through her mind of a bundle of shapeless rags and a sharp, gaunt face.

Aunt Jeannine shook her head. “Rogue creatures—werewolves, ogres, redcaps, the likes of them. And…wizards. I’m not sure where they came from or how they managed to get on the island but for them to have allied themselves with beasts of that ferocity and savagery indicates that this is no mere raid. They want something. And they’ve no qualms about killing others in order to achieve it.” And by the way her face suddenly became pinched and tight, it was obvious she knew what it was these foreigners wanted.

“Do we fight then?” said Brielle, instinctively making a move towards the storage closet. Their weaponry was stored in there: knives, lances, swords, darts and arrows, spears. If her aunt asked it of her, Brielle knew she would have no choice. She had never been the exact best when it came to fighting—that was Diana’s specialty. But if her people were in danger, there was nothing else for it.

But Aunt Jeannine and Madame Tilkin shared a meaningful look. “No,” they both said firmly. “All four of you are kids still. You can barely swing a sword the right way, much less much less grasp the context of real-life fighting. If Madame Tilkin and I sent you out there, it would be only with the certainty that your spilt blood would be on our hands,” added Aunt Jeannine.

“Then?” demanded Will. But before any of them could say or do anything, an ear-splitting scream rented the air, followed closely several others. Above it, there was a long, eerie sound, long and seemingly ceaseless. It was a horrible and hair-raising sound. Harmonia jerked, screaming.

“It’s them!” she shrieked, backing further away from the door. “They’re drawing nearer. We’re next, we’re next!”

“You are not. Calm down, girl. Lulu!” With a terrified squeak, something moved past Aunt Jeannine’s legs, walking forward slowly. It was an extremely short creature, with large brown eyes and rather massive ears appeared. Dressed in a neat skirt and blouse with an indistinguishable logo on the breast pocket, it had solid blue skin.

“A house-elf!” gasped Will, awed. The others stared at the thing with equal amazement. They’d only ever heard of them from the stories people told around town, how they were extremely loyal and hard-working creatures whose nature it was to look after witches and wizards, and assure they were happy.

“Lulu,” Aunt Jeannine said firmly, sighing as the house-elf looked up at her timidly. “It is time to meet your new master. Meet Brielle, Lulu. She is my niece.” The house-elf looked up and its large brown eyes widened to the size of plates. Unexpectedly, it began sobbing, great fat tears leaking down its blue skin.

“Lady Odette, you is alive! Mistress! You is beings alive! You isn’t being dead!” cried Lulu the house-elf, moving forward.

“No, Lulu. That’s Brielle, my sister’s daughter. Look at her eyes, see how they’re different colors? Notice the difference in her face, her height, their stance. That is not Odette.” Aunt Jeannine looked pained. Lulu straightened, her eyes roaming over Brielle’s face, then she nodded. It was extremely odd how quick the house-elf’s eyes dried then, her expression changing to one of utter delight.

“Lulu would be honored to serve Lady Aubrielle,” squeaked the house-elf, sinking into a bow so low her nose touched the ground. “I am being most delighted, Mistress Jeannine! It is a house-elf’s greatest ambition to do serve her masters and their families!” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Brielle saw Diana move towards Madame Tilkin, the two dragon-hide bags she’d been looking for earlier grasped in her hands. They were costly, twenty-six Galleons apiece, one a dark green and the other black. Bottomless and waterproof, each bag could easily fit the whole of their house. But Brielle wasn’t thinking about that. She was thinking of Aunt Joanne, of how she’d been raised her whole life for this, instilled with the certainty some things were inevitable. Now was not the time to ponder things over. Now was the time to act.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Lulu,” said Brielle gently. Lulu beamed happily, stating earnestly, “You is not goings to be disappointed, Mistress Aubrielle! Lulu will be working very hard to please Mistress, she will, and to make sure no harm fallings on her!”

Nodding, Brielle turned back to Aunt Jeannine, clenching her jaw. “You needn’t fret, tonty. It’s what you warned me about ages ago. That I must…I must go abroad.”

Her aunt’s eyes shone brightly. “I would not ask this of you, Brielle. You know this. But you are growing up, and it is time for you to go and meet the Fates with a full embrace.” She took a deep breath and turned to the others. “Edict two states in no uncertain terms that when a prophecy is spoken or re-told to the one it is intended for, a quest is henceforth activated. With the war that rages now not too far from here, I am fully certain that this is the case. Which is why I ask you three, not enforce, to save yourselves and help out a dear friend in the process. Wringburg is no longer safe. The majority of our people will be dead by morning. We all know this. But it is no quest if the one whom the prophecy concerns does not set off with two or three members at their side, who will assure that the quest succeeds and who would aid the leader when peril arises. Because that too is a certainty—in every quest, danger presents itself, sometimes as a group of people, sometimes as a tangible force of nature, at times even within the quest leader itself. Spirits have been known to drive people mad before. To prevent that, the intended—”

“We’ll go,” said Will and Diana fluidly, Harmonia echoing the sentiment with a fierce hug at Brielle, who felt her throat tighten.

Aunt Jeannine nodded, seemingly heaving expected as much. Brielle, though it cost her to admit it past the guilt churning at her insides, knew it had been all but decided from the start anyway. She, Will, Harmonia, and Diana were the closest out of all their other friends. They (with the exception of Diana) had been close from their infancy. They’d seen each other go through some of the worst times already, experienced one another’s pain, and had gotten to the point where an assault on one of them meant insulting the rest. To others, it was a thing of tall tales and infancy rhymes, close friendships, but to the four it meant everything. They were startingly aware of how fickle and temperamental friendships were in general: here in one moment, gone the next, which was why they did everything in their power to assure that fate would not befall them. But to this extent…

“You don’t have to. This is my prophecy, not yours,” she said thickly. “You belong with our people. They are the ones who truly require help.”

“Didn’t you hear?” snapped Diana, levitating items from the living room into the bag opened at Madame Tilkin’s feet. “It’s a _quest_ , Leighn. You need us, point blank. Halt, no arguing! I’m going, regardless of your opinion on the matter.”

“It’s going to be on foreign land!” agreed Harmonia, hand-picking glass ornaments and other delicate pieces of furniture and carrying them to the bag. “We’d never let you go there on your own. Professor Leighn’s right. Prophecies are always riddled up with danger and mysteries meant to make it more complex and difficult to fulfill.”

Smiling faintly, Will joined Diana in levitating the items in the kitchen into Aunt Jeannine’s bag. Then he stopped, frowning. “Wait. If only us four are going, why are we packing everything? Professor?”

“William, undoubtedly clever though you are, I’d thought you’d have figured that out by now,” said Madame Tilkin in a surprisingly gentle voice. “Jeannine was not joking. After tonight, many a things will have been destroyed and more people dead. It wouldn’t be safe for us here anymore. No, child, we will take refuge underground the amphitheater.”

“You will find, too, that I’ve thought through your departure to the smallest detail,” interrupted Aunt Jeannine briskly. “Within the suitcase Madame Tilkin has prepared for William in advance of your departure is a silk bag full to bursting with near a thousand Galleons of which you four will manage by comfortably with until you reach seventeen years, which is when those of the UK Wizarding world reach the age of maturity. As for housing…Well, Elisa and I have taken the liberty to write letters just for a situation like this. This matter will be taken care of by the English government upon your attendance of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, whose headmaster is a man by the name of Albus Dumbledore. Extremely intelligent and magically powerful, I hope you will quickly find an ally in him.

“However,” and here Aunt Jeannine turned somberly to Brielle. “it is of the upmost importance that you do not—and I cannot stress how important this is—place your full trust in anyone at this school but Severus Snape. He is a teacher there, and although widely loathed by the students, an invaluable ally. Gain his trust and he will help you. Failure is not acceptable. And the others, you mustn’t be like them, hear? Keep your mind open, ears and eyes sharp, and lips carefully sealed. Do not forget who you are.”

“I understand.”

“Additionally, before you go I must tell you: there are some things I’ve not yet told you, thinking I’d have the time. As that is not to happen, you will be forced to venture out and discover these things for yourself. You will not like everything you unveil but never forget: whatever happens, we are family, always. And family is the most important thing in this world, beyond friendships even. Despite what may have happened in the past, now, or in the future, it is family you owe loyalty to, the ones whom you should stand by unwaveringly. No one else. Understand?”

“Yes,” they all replied, for Aunt Jeannine was looking at them shrewdly, her face deadly serious. She gave a curt nod. Then, reaching behind her back, she retrieved something gold. It was a dagger.

Carefully, she beckoned Brielle closer and placed the dagger into her opened palm. “This is a Portkey. Say only ‘Ouránio aíma’ and it will take you to the gates of Hogwarts. There you must ask for the headmaster. From there, you will be taken in and, I expect, shortly join the rest of Hogwarts as brand-new students. Now, this won’t make sense now, but—Harmonia, you must go into Slytherin and you Brielle, darling, into Gryffindor. Diana, Will, you two may go along with what the Hat tells you. There is no need for meddling there. Lulu, too, you must ask to work at Hogwarts while Brielle remains there. However, you are to obey her and her principally. She is your master, not Dumbledore or anyone else. You know your job.”

Bewildered, Brielle, Harmonia, Will, and Diana simply nodded. Lulu bowed.

“But wait. What is this ‘Hat’? What’s a Slytherin or Gryff—”

_CRAACK!_

The windows blew apart, glass scattering everywhere. Will and Harmonia, who were nearest the door, bent over with strangled cries, their hands flying to their face, blood seeping through their fingers. From outside there was a large roar of approval. Madame Tilkin paled.

“Joanne, they have come!” she breathed. “It is time.”

Without hesitation, Aunt Jeannine snatched up the green bag, Brielle’s, and sprang upstairs. “Elisa, Disillusion them!” she called over her shoulder, then she disappeared into the hallway. Madame Tilkin gestured at them to come closer frantically, then when she’d assured they were standing side by side she stopped in front of them, tapping them each on the head firmly. For Brielle, a curiously cold sensation rippled down her body where Will’s grandmother had touched her and when she looked down it was to take note of the spell’s effect. Now she was no longer really _there_ there. Although she was still solid, her body had blended into the background. When Brielle stuck out her hand, waving it testily, it took on the same hue of the things in front of her.

“We’re like chameleons now!” exclaimed Will, staring at his own body with a baffled look.

But Madame Tilkin simply nodded. “When Professor Leighn returns, we will be taking you some way from here. It’s dangerous out there, yes, I know but it’s even more so in here. The Portkey requires more space than this house would allow. Something could go wrong. You might end up in the heart of the battle or somewhere in India, for all we know.”

“Precisely, Elisa,” said Aunt Jeannine’s voice. She came descending down the stairs, Brielle’s bag in her hand, her two swords strapped against her back. “Here. Everything you need is within the bag’s contents.” Brielle caught the bag as it flew through the air, shrinking rapidly; when it fell into her hand it was the size of her thumb. She set her mouth, nodding at Aunt Jeannine, and placed the bag inside her pocket.

With a baleful look at the now-gone windows, Aunt Jeannine made for the door, pulling out one of her swords. “Let’s go. You’re Disillusioned now so hopefully the enemy won’t take notice of you. If they do you know what to do. Do not stray away from each other. When the Portkey is activated, you all need to be together while Madame Tilkin and I fend off any potential pursuers.” And with one last look at the home she and Aunt Jeannine had lived in for the past thirteen years, Brielle followed her aunt, Lulu jogging beside her.

They heard the fight before they saw it. Loud and hauntingly clear, guttural screams and cries permeated the normally tranquil air, torn apart by savage growls and snarls. Then there were voices, shrieking above the others, “Rogue beasts! _Monsters_!” Other voices joined in the cacophony until they were all shrieking the same thing. As Aunt Jeannine made hurriedly for the back of the house, where there was an entrance to the forest, Brielle glimpsed a tall, hairy figure wrap his hands around ten-year old Candelaria’s throat and slam her against a tree, snarling. She screamed loudly, kicking frantically. “Mama! P-Pa—” Then the werewolf threw his head back, howling, and sank his teeth into her neck. Candelaria jerked, her screams fading.

“ _No_!” Brielle turned back, disbelief coursing through her blood. “No!” Hands wrapped around her as she made for the path, hissing at her to keep silent, the voice reedy with pain, with tears. The same tears that raced down Brielle’s skin. She struggled, seeing only Candelaria’s round, youthful face, her innocent brown eyes and sweet, jubilant smiles and laughter. Her admiration for combat and simple love for all furry animals. Her as an infant, struggling to walk properly. A sister. Family.

Then Diana was there, gripping Brielle’s face and her face was streaked too, her voice wobbling dangerously as she said, “It’s too late—we can’t do anything. S-She’s gone…Brie, we need to go!” and Will was dragging her back, his arms pinning hers to her side. Gripping her tightly, he started running, not even bothering to keep her quiet. He was shaking. Candelaria had always looked up to him, had come crying to him when her parents were gone in No-Maj land and she feared they wouldn’t come back.

“Get the Portkey! They’re coming!” yelled Aunt Jeannine. Brielle was placed back on her feet. A hand reached into her pocket, pulled out the dagger that’d cut into her stomach. It was hard controlling her breath, but Brielle swiped at her eyes furiously, reaching out to grip the dagger floating mid-air.

 _You need to go. Prophecy. Don’t forget the prophecy_ , she thought. _Prophecy. You need to go. Prophecy, prophecy…_

“They know we’re trying to leave!” shouted Harmonia. She was right. All around them, the trees were rustling. The ground beneath them rumbled, the cacophony of voices drawing closer. They wouldn’t make it easy, the enemy. They’d try to stop them. Then, as Brielle opened her mouth to activate the Portkey, the first figures shot through the trees. Redcaps. They spilled out of the forest, scuttling in from seemingly all sides.

“Get—them!” shrieked one, snarling at them. Its face was covered in crimson stains, something stuck in its teeth. Brielle felt her stomach turn, nausea build up.

“ _Daphne_!” said Aunt Jeannine. “Not yet. It’s too dangerous!” And she launched herself at the nearest redcaps, swinging her sword through the air, her face contorted in rage. Following suit, Madame Tilkin raised her hands, standing before the lot of them, and started yelling out spells and curses left and right. But even as the redcaps diminished one by one, Brielle knew it wasn’t enough. Neither Madame Tilkin or Aunt Jeannine were invincible. They would tire, get hurt.

As she stepped forward, ready to fire off spells of her own however, the horde finally broke through: werewolves, more redcaps, faeries, ogres, hags; they came bounding out of the trees, shrieking angrily. One faerie whipped something green and coiled through the air. It hooked around Brielle’s leg, pulling taut, burning where it touched, searing through the material of her pants easily. She fell onto her backside, screaming shrilly as agony flared up her leg, the whip burning through her skin. Diana fell next to her, clawing at the whip only to spring back with a shocked wail.

With an enraged cry, Aunt Jeannine swung her sword. _Swack!_ The faerie’s head fell clean from its shoulders, rolling away into the undergrowth. The whip loosened; Brielle tore it off, trembling. Lulu was there the next second, pulling her to her feet. She dodged as something small and dark hurtled through the air, scratching at them. It was a redcap. Baring its teeth, it raked a jagged stone across Brielle, Will, and Harmonia’s skin, cackling as blood welled bright on their skin. Then it was crawling up Brielle’s legs, and anguish lit through her as razor-sharp teeth sank into her neck, tearing savagely. Letting out a horrified shout, Harmonia grabbed the redcap by the head and yanked it back forcibly, sinking its stone into its snarling mouth. It fell to the ground, where Lulu descended upon it, battering her small fists upon its body.

Next to her, holding her up, one hand pressing part of his saved sweater to her neck to staunch the flow of blood, his other hand clasping part of the dagger like the rest of them, Will turned. His mouth fell open. A body had landed some yards away with a sickening crunch. Two ogres stumbled into the clearing, fighting over a human arm, torn straight from the body of the person they’d tossed to the side. It was a man with a shock white hair, looking up at the sky with blank eyes, his mouth still opened.

“ _D-Dad_!” cried Harmonia in a hoarse voice. But it was Diana next who truly screamed.

Luke, sweet, idiotic Luke with his fondness for all canines, who wasn’t supposed to arrive until the next day, came tearing through the trees. Blind terror painted his face. There were several wounds on his pale skin, bleeding freely. He barely made it past the forest clearing when a hand whipped out, snapping around his neck and pulling him back. Then Madame Celeste was there, dueling with a werewolf, throwing spells left and right, her hair escaping from her usually neat chignon. A redcap has snuck behind her though and as she stumbled to the side, it leaned forward, sinking its teeth into her leg. Will jerked. Aunt Jeannine was battling two faeries and a werewolf, steadily driving her away from the clearing and into the forest. As she dodged their grip, curse after curse leaving her mouth, a bloodcurdling scream ripped through the air, as familiar as the stars above them. Luke.

Aunt Jeannine roared out, “ _Now, Daphne_!”

“NO!”

With startling force, Diana let go of the sword as Brielle screamed “Ouránio aíma!”

Grabbing her own sword, Diana ran headfirst into the forest. And perhaps that was the biggest mistake of the night. Diana’s release of the portkey had not only broken her connection but that of the others too.

Before Brielle could register the shock of this, the others went flying back. Even little Lulu disappeared into the night, her grip on Brielle having proven to be no match for the portkey’s reaction. Brielle herself barely clung on to the portkey. Yards away, Luke sprang up, his face ashen. Too late he sprinted towards her, yelling loudly.

There was a tugging behind Brielle’s stomach, pulling her forward against her will. Her feet left the ground as she rose into the air, higher and higher. Then she stopped. Dimly, she took notice of the abnormal weight of her left leg, how it seemed even heavier than it had been moments before. Now she was speeding forward in a storm of dark colors; the screams and cries below her faded into an unearthly shriek, wind whipping at her clothes and skin—


End file.
